Pooka in My Pantry

by R. L. Naquin

  Art smiled at me. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Donovan. We’ll be in touch.”

  The door slammed shut without any help from Terrence. Knowing what I would find, I tried the knob anyway. It was, of course, locked. Voices argued in the hall, but the door was too thick to let me hear what was said. I knew Riley was upset, and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

  So, this was how the Board members were going to play it. Lure the new Aegis into a pretty room, lock her in, and call for her at their leisure. I wondered if this was the standard treatment, or if it was reserved for the difficult cases. I wondered if my mom had been locked in this same room twenty years earlier, or if she had been more docile, and therefore, better treated.

  Most of all, I wondered if they had any idea how much harder I was going to be to deal with once they finally let me out and granted me an audience. Every second I was locked up was going to make it that much more difficult for them to handle me.

  In movies, any heroine in this situation would spend some time pounding on the door and yelling for help. Faced with it myself, I couldn’t bring myself to resort to that tactic. I’d already tried the door and found it locked. Flailing around and throwing a tantrum wasn’t going to get me anywhere. My insides were a seething turmoil of venomous anger, but bruising my fists on the thick wood of the door would do nothing but bloody my hands and cause the further loss of my dignity.

  I did what any woman under solitary confinement in a luxurious bed and breakfast should do—I took a bubble bath.

  The tub was a lovely, claw-foot affair, perfectly shaped to cup my neck and keep me immersed in soothing hot water and an extravagance of bubbles. I didn’t last long. Maurice hadn’t packed me anything to read. The room, as decadent as it looked with its lush carpets, velvet-cushioned window seat, and silk-canopied bed, was barren of any sort of entertainment, either of the paper or electronic kind. No books, no television, and no computer.

  The towels were nice and fluffy, though. And the robe they left for me was soft and comfortable.

  I checked the windows, unsurprised to find them painted shut and protected by iron bars on the outside. I examined every ornate knick-knack, unpacked the clothes they’d brought me and arranged my toothbrush on the bathroom sink. I poked around in the empty closet, and I sat in the window seat to gaze out at the nothing outside the barbed wire that surrounded the compound. I bounced on the bed, taking pride in my ability to jump high enough to touch the lofty ceiling through the canopy. I picked at my nail polish. I tried to play a rousing game of twenty questions with myself, but won too quickly.

  When I’d exhausted all of my options, I glanced at the clock. An hour and a half had passed. For the twenty-third time, I checked my cell phone for a signal. Nothing.

  Expecting to get a dead line, despite what Art had said, I picked up the receiver of the old-fashioned princess phone by the bed. There was no dial tone, but a voice answered promptly.

  “Yes, Miss Donovan. I’m happy to help you.”

  Without thinking, I slammed the phone down in its cradle. It creeped me out that someone was sitting somewhere, eyeballing my telephone line, knowing my name. I felt foolish a second later. This was no different than room service at a hotel. Of course they’d know who I was. I tried again.

  “Yes, Miss Donovan. I’m happy to help you.”

  The repetition of the earlier greeting didn’t make me feel any more at ease.

  “How, exactly, can you help me?” I asked.

  There was a long pause while the anonymous voice considered my question. “The kitchen is available twenty-four hours a day, should you find yourself hungry. We also have a full bar, should you require liquid refreshment.”

  “Can you get me an outside line?”

  “That would be impossible.”

  “I figured. How about you send someone up to open the door so I can take a walk or something?”

  “Curfew is currently between the hours of 6pm and 6am.”

  “Curfew. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “The curfew is set in place for your own safety.”

  That was interesting. “Books? Magazines? How about a television? Or someone to talk to who doesn’t sound like a preprogrammed robot?” I stopped and took a breath. This person, no matter how irritating and eerie, wasn’t responsible for locking me up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “I am not offended. I will send up a selection of reading material.”

  “Thank you. Could you send up something to eat? I don’t really care what.”

  “If you have no preference, the chef will choose for you.”

  “That’s fine. Just, you know, hurry, please? It’s so quiet up here alone.”

  “Very well, Miss Donovan. I am happy to help you.”

  I hung up, creeped out more than I had been at the beginning of the call. Like Terrence, the operator had been void of emotion. The inflections in her voice were hollow, as if rehearsed.

  While I waited, I put my clothes back on. The bathrobe was nice, but it left me feeling vulnerable. I also had a vague notion they’d have to open the door to make the delivery, and I might be able to make a break for it.

  I needn’t have bothered. A non-descript man came to the door carrying a silver tray and a cloth bag full of books. He opened the door, slid the tray across the threshold, tossed in the bag, and the door slammed shut on its own. No words were exchanged, and he never looked at me.

  I was thoroughly screwed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When I called down the next morning for breakfast, I told the emotionless voice I wanted to take a walk, now that the curfew was lifted.

  “The curfew is currently between the hours of 6am to 6pm.”

  “Not cool,” I said. “Last night you said the opposite.”

  “The curfew is set in place for your safety.”

  “When do I see the Board?”

  “The Board is carefully considering their schedule. An appointment will be made at the first available opportunity.”

  I hung up. There was no point arguing. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Apparently, I wasn’t going anywhere, either.

  I spent three days like that, ordering food when I was hungry, taking baths, reading the dry material they’d sent up to keep me occupied. I suppose some people might find a farmer’s almanac from 1874 engrossing, but it didn’t catch my interest until at least the second day of silence and solitude.

  I planned to make a break for it when they brought me food. I waited near the door for an hour, but it didn’t open until I walked away from it. I glanced up at the ceiling, trying to spot a camera. I didn’t see anything.

  The door never opened more than the width of the tray. By the time I ran across the room to wedge my foot into the crack, it had slammed shut. They weren’t taking any chances with me.

  On the afternoon of the third day, I lay in bed staring up at the billowing canopy, which felt more like the lining of a coffin now that the newness had worn thin. The only sound I heard was the faint chirping of crickets coming through the double layer of window glass.

  The tap on the door startled me. It was the first time I’d heard anyone other than the nearly silent delivery guy. I tiptoed to the door and put my ear to it.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing. I tried the handle, unsurprised that it didn’t turn. I stood there a moment longer, then finally decided I’d imagined the noise.

  And now the hallucinations begin. Excellent. At least now I have something entertaining to keep me occupied.

  I turned to go back to lying on the bed and feeling sorry for myself.

  I smacked right into Maurice.

  A strangled, surprised sound erupted from my throat. I threw my arms around his neck. “Oh, my God, Maurice. How did you get
in here?”

  I was so glad to see him, I didn’t want to let go. I was afraid if I did, he’d disappear in a puff of smoke, or I’d startle myself awake into a dark, empty room of silk and velvet.

  “Shhh!” he said. His eyes darted around, then he held me at arms’ length to examine me. “You didn’t answer your phone. You didn’t come home. You were supposed to come home. I only packed an overnight bag.”

  “I’m locked in, and they won’t give me an appointment.”

  Behind him, the closet door stood open. I still wasn’t sure how Maurice traveled, but I had the vague understanding that closet monsters used closets as portals. There were rules. There were always rules. But the rules dictating closet monster transportation weren’t clear to me.

  “I told you not to challenge the Board,” he said.

  “Can you travel through closets with a passenger?”

  He looked at the empty closet. “Only short distances. Besides, they’d only follow you.”

  “I know. I don’t want to go far—I’m not leaving this business undone. Can you get me to a closet in their building?”

  “You’re already in their building, Zoey. They’re in the dining room downstairs.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “No. They’re down there having dinner. I had to check a lot of closets before I found you.”

  “Perfect.” I ran around the room, gathering my things and dumping them into my overnight bag. “Here,” I said, shoving it at him. “I need you to take me downstairs to the hall closet and wait for me. Then we can go home.”

  He shook his head and planted his feet. “No.” His face was serious. “I’m going wherever you’re going.”

  I blinked in surprise. “I thought you were afraid of the Board. I don’t want to get you into trouble. Let me handle it. Please?” This was not what I wanted. I couldn’t bear the thought of putting him at risk.

  “Zoey, if you come popping out of a closet, they’ll know I helped you, anyway. I’m in it, now. And I’m staying in it, as long as I can still stand on my own feet.”

  My eyes blurred with tears. This goofy, once-terrifying monster was one of the best friends I’d ever had. I nodded and brushed a tear aside. He was right. He was already at risk.

  “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

  It was a weird sensation, using a closet as a portal. I walked into a small, empty space, and before I could blink, I was fighting coats for room to exist. A sharp pain burned through the top of my head and down my spine. I slapped at a fur-cuffed coat sleeve and squeezed my eyes against the excruciating stabbing sensation. After a few seconds, it faded, leaving me breathless and sweaty. All things considered, the bumpy landing from the private plane had been a far better way to travel.

  Maurice patted my arm. “That’s why I can’t take you very far. You’re not built for closet travel. The longer the distance, the worse it would be.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  Outside the closet door, I heard silverware scraping, ice in glasses, and the low murmur of voices. We were in the right place.

  I turned the doorknob and peeked out, finding myself in the entryway I’d first seen three days ago. I stepped into the hallway and Maurice followed behind me, my bag clutched tightly in his fist. A woman bustled past us and through the front door. She never glanced our way. We followed the voices past the stairs and found the dining room.

  They didn’t notice us at first. I had time to take in how average they all looked. There were ten of them, filling their plates and chatting to each other. Four were men, each more uninteresting than the next. They had dull smiles, receding hairlines, wrinkles. The women were similar, with pudgy faces and varying degrees of gray in their matronly hairstyles. A few of them wore glasses. The most remarkable thing about the group was how unremarkable they all were. I’d expected Armani suits and power ties, pointed ears and butterfly wings. Instead, I found Thanksgiving dinner with Uncle Hank and Aunt Marge.

  The exception was the woman sitting at the head of the table. Taken alone, she wasn’t exceptional, but among the others, there was a quality that made her stand out. Her hair, though it, too, was done in a soccer-mom helmet cut, was jet black. Her face had a roundness that came with having missed no meals throughout her life, but her expression was not soft. Her eyes were sharpened bits of obsidian.

  She was the first to notice me standing there watching. Her tiny eyes focused on me and she stopped speaking. One at a time, the people around the table quieted and followed her gaze. I was now the center of attention.

  I gave her my best stink-eye. “So, you have time to gorge yourselves, but no time to schedule a meeting with the Aegis you’re keeping hostage.”

  They were dead silent for at least a full minute. Inside, I shook like a sapling in a thunderstorm. Outside, I was wearing my Sara the Bitch disguise. I hoped like hell they couldn’t see through it.

  The woman with the dangerous eyes wiped her mouth with a linen napkin and placed it next to her plate. One by one the rest of the diners did the same.

  She nodded in Maurice’s direction. “I see you have an unauthorized guest.”

  I felt Maurice shiver next to me, and I stepped in front of him to block her line of sight. “I was tired of waiting alone in a locked room. I think we’ll have our meeting now.”

  She considered me for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Have a seat.”

  “I’m more comfortable standing, thank you.”

  “I see. Mr. Ferguson did say you were without manners. Very well. I am Bernice Abernathy, Chairman of the Board of Hidden Affairs, and these are the board members, heading the various divisions.” She pointed at the unremarkable man on her left. This is Carlton Gardner, head of the Hidden Services division. Miss Farthingale, next to him, reports to him and leads the Social Assistance department, which is under the Hidden Services umbrella. You’ll be reporting to her directly once you receive your orders, though you’ll spend time training with each department head and sub-department leader first.”

  I bit back a snippy retort. I was trying to act like Sara. Sara waited for all the information before cutting someone down. Sara would never leap across a dining room table and strangle the life out of someone with their napkin. It was very hard to be like Sara sometimes.

  She glanced past me at Maurice, and her lip curled in distaste. “I suppose you’ll be expecting to have your attendant accompany you to your new assignment. We’ll make the arrangements.”

  It was getting more difficult not to climb across the table like a spider monkey and yank out fistfuls of her hair.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I’ll be returning home with my friend.” I emphasized the word, making it clear I didn’t care for her slight. “If you’d like to hand over any books or other information that will make my job easier, I’ll be glad to have them. Other than that, I expect no further interference from your people.”

  The various non-descript faces around the table looked shocked. Bernice Abernathy was unimpressed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have duties to perform, and they can only be done under Board supervision.”

  “I’ve done pretty well so far.”

  “Really.” She snapped her fingers and a small girl with empty eyes came from the kitchen with a tray. Bernice plucked a pair of obnoxious, pointy-rimmed glasses from the tray and placed them on her plump face. She plucked up a notebook—Art’s notebook—and looked down her nose at it. “I see here you’ve allowed an incubus free reign to slaughter humans in your city, the Leprechaun Mafia was permitted to injure, maim, or kill a number of folks in the supernatural fringe, and—oh, my, this can’t be true—you gave sanctuary to a pooka with a bounty on his head.”

  I was not going to allow her to bully me into feeling guilty about the deaths that had occurred around me. I already felt bad e
nough, but I also knew they weren’t really my fault. In fact, I suspected the leprechauns were a direct result of the stupid curse the Board had put on me in the first place. And Silas, well, nobody told me he was a criminal. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I didn’t exactly invite him in.

  I decided to ignore her manufactured disapproval and change tack. “So, how much does the job pay?”

  Her brows shot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Compensation.” I ticked off the items on my fingers. “I give up my life, my family, my friends, my successful business. You relocate me to some undisclosed location and give me assignments. What’s in it for me?”

  “We’ll train you, of course.”

  “That’s something, I suppose. Though I think if you’d give me a Handbook of Aegis Management and maybe an Urban Legends and Mythical Creatures for Dummies book, I’d be set.”

  “There are reference materials available.”

  “Excellent. Have one of your automatons fetch them, please.”

  “Automatons?” She spluttered and looked around at the people gathered around the table. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  But she did know what I meant. She looked nervous, as if I’d discovered an enormous secret.

  I leaned forward, resting my knuckles on the table. “I’m an empath, sweetie. You’re the only person in this house with any emotion to speak of. Though yours are well guarded, I can still feel them. Your flunkies here at dinner may pretend better than the staff, but they’re just as empty as the other shells walking around this place.”

  Her face went pale, and she stuttered. “I...I...I’m sure you’re mistaken.” She straightened in her seat. “And quite insulting, I might add.”

  With those words, the people around the table went from staring blankly at me to muttering how offended they all were. It was interesting, in a detached sort of way. Bernice thought she was being slick. She was about as subtle as a pack of velociraptors parachuting into a cattle auction at a stockyard. She was instructing the Board in what emotion to play.